Our Future is Now
by soggyhook
Summary: Emma and Killian share quiet moments after returning from the Underworld; a CSSS gift.


**A/N: This is for allthelittlelostgirlsgrowup! Seriously, you are so talented and kind, I really hope you like this! Here and there there's a line inspired from a musical, I think because I can't get over how much we both love them; and obviously I'm still stuck in Hell that I struggled to refer to the Underworld as anything but that! I hope you like 3**

"Killian, if you drop those I'm going to…"

He was balancing two very shaky cups of hot cocoa and cinnamon, the handles of the mugs gripped in one hand, as he sauntered over to the couch where Emma sat. Regardless, he set them down with expert precision before kissing her cheek and sitting down on her left side. "You'll 'what,' love? Because if I recall correctly, you went to the _Underworld_ to save me." One perfect eyebrow raised up at her.

The mere mention of the Underworld was harsh against her ears. She'd made the distinction between it and Hell to her father, but thinking about it now she didn't really think she needed to. Although, despite the hellish nature of, well, _Hell,_ she would do it again in a heartbeat. She wrapped her arm around his waist. "I love you, you know."

"And I, you." He gave a peck to her lips. "But alas, maybe you should tell me more about what just made you wander its shadowy depths." There was a spark behind his eyes and lips, and so Emma's tightened hold around Killian's waist accompanied her next sentence. "We've been back less than twenty four hours and you want to hear the tale of just how much I love you? Glad to see being dead didn't harm you." Again, her grip tightened.

"What have I told you, love? I'm a survivor." He winked. He actually had the audacity to wink, and Emma couldn't help but kiss his cheek. There were times he hid his doubt under this façade—just as she used to hide beneath her walls.

"You're a hero," she said gently.

"Hey," he reached to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "So are you." Then even softer, "Do I dare remind you who rescued me?" He held her eyes for a moment before adding even lower, "In the most dashing of manners, might I add."

A slow smile found a way to Emma's face. "Dashing?"

"Aye, love." He looked at her for a moment, thoughtful on the past. "My Swan, walking through the Underworld, threatening to punch Hades in the face." He laughed softly. "Not something I'd easily forget. Or refer to as anything less than wonderful."

She turned to lean into him more as her right hand crossed to meet his. Their fingers thread together, finally finding sanctuary. They were finally _home._ Not just back to Storybrooke. Not just alive and well in each other's arms. But home in their own house with a view of the ocean, a loveseat, a kitchen to make hot cocoa and cinnamon in the morning. A home that was theirs and theirs alone, with no worry of disturbing a particular True Love couple. Emma wondered herself how she'd find the strength to leave it the next time another monster plagued Storybrooke; it was close to perfect, a world of its own in a town from another world.

Her eyes dimmed for a moment, thinking about that first day, how she'd been unable to leave it then. She barely made it out of bed, making it only as far as the couch. The only energy she could muster was to remove the chain from her neck and then the ring from that chain; the energy to twirl the ring in her fingers and wonder what could have been. She made the mistake of slipping it onto her finger. A moment was one too long and she'd roughly taken it off.

Her hopes and dreams had all gone with him; with him went her entire world—her life. Because what was life to her without Killian Jones in it?

Without him, the world grew very dark.

Her walls were high as a beanstalk when she first came to the world of Storybrooke. If someone told her she'd one day be otherwise, she'd never have believed them. But it was this new belief Killian helped stir in her—the belief that love was never gone, that it could transcend death—that was what saved him.

She suddenly sat up, overwhelmed with emotion, saying, "Hey, let's do something normal."

"Normal, Swan?" His raised eyebrows told her he knew something was up.

She leaned back close to him, a hand light on his chest. "I don't want to think about where we've come from. I don't want to think about losing—"

He shushed her by lunging to her lips, hook gracing her waist, and hand cradling her cheek. He knew now how the past tormented her; he died three times, yes; but dying and seeing the person you loved the most die in front of you was something different altogether, and the thought of it plaguing her plagued him. "It's alright, love. We'll do whatever you want."

His understanding left the entire world in her eyes. She licked her lips and murmured, "Let's play a game."

She grabbed his arm, pulled him up behind her. They wandered together to the closet, looking through the different boxes. When she was the Dark One, she hadn't failed to fill the house up with things: from the games here, to the china sets in the kitchen, to the DVDs in the living room (which included Back to the Future and Pirates of the Caribbean, thank you very much). She so believed in their future together—and now they finally had it.

She pulled out Monopoly. It was one of her favorite games when she was younger, that short time she had a foster family that loved her to play with. They sprawled out on the floor, setting it up. Killian made a confused face every once in a while, but Emma did her best to explain. She didn't even have to ask which playing piece he wanted, donning him the ship vessel without second thought. He'd noticed, though, and winked at her as he set down the silver car next to his gaming piece on the board. Emma was rolling the dice when she said, "I guess this isn't the best game for two people."

"It isn't the best game for a pirate either." He brought his hook over to her chin, the paper money waiting to purchase Boardwalk dismissed. "We like to take."

"Do they?" Emma was playing with fire and she knew it.

He didn't answer her, instead pulling her close for an all-devouring kiss. His hand tangled in her hair, his hook pushing her closer. She didn't hold back either, pulling him in by the collar of his shirt. It wasn't until Killian's hand came to her collarbone that he stopped, putting his forehead to hers. His thumb was tracing the chain around her neck. "Love? May I?"

She looked up at him, pouting a little, and it wasn't until he kissed her senseless for the second time that she decided to nod her head. He got the necklace off in a moment; he may have had one hand, but he wasn't lacking. Emma caught it as it fell, and Killian picked up the ring, letting the chain pool into her hands. She set it down next to the abandoned game as Killian studied the ring with a look he too often shared with self-doubt.

"He would have liked you, Emma." He looked up at her. "He was honorable, true to his word, a stubborn arse he was—but a much better man than me."

If Henry was around, if he hadn't broken his pen, he would have willingly given Killian a listen; asked for tales in the Navy before the tragedy struck. Henry knew, too, that you have no control; as the author, he would have picked up his pen, listened to Killian's words, and helped tell the story: the story of a man and his brother—the story of a man changed. Killian wasn't alone anymore; he didn't have his brother to guide him, but he had Emma. If he had doubts before, he should know now.

And if he didn't, Emma would continue to prove him, in the most loving of manners, wrong.

"Hey," her hand came to cradle his cheek. After the short moment of silence she was still looking at him softly. "Don't say that. We're living in the now, Killian. Your future— _our future_ —is now."

He smiled at hearing his words repeated to him. They rested in his heart before making their way back to her again. "Speaking of the future." He looked at her, nervous to take the next step but knowing it was his turn. Half of Emma's heart beat rapidly in his chest. "I will always work to be a better man for you, Swan. I will fight for us every single day. Every day there is a bloody monster roaming the streets of Storybrooke, or any time Henry needs the fatherly figure, I will be there. In the present, in the _now_ for you, Swan."

Tears were welling in Emma's eyes, and she moved forward to rest her hand on his thigh.

"I love you, Emma. I want you to wear this ring on your finger as a reminder. Promise me: to the end of the world or time."

It was like when he was telling her that she was his happy ending. Only now she had no fear, and even more trust in his words. "Killian… yes. I promise." Her hand lifted for the short second it took him to put the ring on his finger before she was tackling him to the ground. She was giggling like she was the day she found him after Isaac's awful fiction.

He was beaming as she pulled him back up, cradling his head. "I love you."

There they were, plain as day, those three words she hadn't been able to say.

"I love you, Emma. More than anything."

Laughter and smiles, so complete and so full of joy on her new promise to him, Emma found herself speechless, as she so often was with him.

"We've never been the traditional type, Swan, but if you want…a wedding?"

"Killian, this is all the promise I need. Only now you need a ring." She grinned at him. "I'm sure Mary Margaret would love a wedding, even Henry," she paused to move a piece of hair from his eyes. "But we don't have to." She smirked as devilishly as he sometimes did. "Do I dare remind you who I shared True Love's Kiss with in the Underworld?"

And the kiss that followed that was even better, the promise of the future singing at their lips.


End file.
